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Jeff Whitehead RIP

Updated: Mon, 2 Mar 2009 01:08 pm

jeffw@writeoutloud.net

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Biography

We are sad to announce the death of Jeff Whitehead (aged of 64), poet, karate master, stalwart of Write Out Loud and Bank Street Writers. He died peacefully in the Bolton Hospice on Wednesday evening, 25th February 2009, and will be much missed by all his friends in poetry. He had poems published in both the Carillion and Current Account magazines. He won two poetry prizes, Sweeten Book shop’s local poet award and the Writers Dock Comic Poetry prize. He trained in the martial arts for 35 years gaining Dan grades in shotokan Karate, Kempo and Jiu-Jitsu. He developed his own Martial Arts system “Goshin Budo” which was recognised by major governing bodies in the Martial arts community. In 1993 he was awarded 5th Dan by the “Nippon-Dai-Budo-Kai Association”. By that time he was full time chief coach to his own Martial Arts association.

Samples

The Purpose He is: The tree with one branch The first The last drop of rain Life before death After death Thought Without thought The breeze wove into him He wove into the breeze Like Am apparition Weaving through the forest Wispy beard Drooping eyes Staff White ankle length robe Swishes over rock His feet slide over a bed pebbles Waves spew and splash He kneels before the rock The original faceless face Clogs; Pick and Spade Beyond the wall wreckers work, a centuries mutation 14,000 tons of rubble, industrial revelation Shaft now level with the face, officials they endorsed Candle lits caverns and pit ponies had duly run their course A temporary monument to the past, rusted wire ropes Redundant huge coal-hopper within the dust slopes Twisted girders on broken wall, balks of timber remain Ghostly figures and crippled men, the pits they were to blame As I cough the thick black and live on borrowed time I shed a tear for skeletons in the mine Epilogue It’s all computer mania, they’re dressed like millionaires What’s this talk of trips abroad? Invest in stocks and share? I’m glad I’m just a ghost and with my dear old Sade I’d hardly fit the bill these days with clogs; pick and spade

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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Comments

<Deleted User> (5763)

Tue 27th Jan 2009 16:22

Found you at last Jeff -wurv yer bin?
I like ' As I cough the thick black...', lots of meaning in just the word 'black'. Keep it simple,it works well. And 'Epilogue' is spot on.

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